


Speaking My Language

by kpark



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: M/M, as per usual i am not good at writing romance so i.. dont, just assume that there is off-record dating happening i just dont write the mushy parts, not explicitly shippy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-23 01:18:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11979084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kpark/pseuds/kpark
Summary: As kids in Meteor City, Phinks and Feitan find something in common through their languages, and it remains an important part of their relationship.This is basically just an overgrown manifestation of my headcanon that Phinks understands Feitan’s language.





	Speaking My Language

**Author's Note:**

> 1) They/them pronouns are used for Feitan.  
> 2) Instead of calling it Chinese, I’m just referring to Feitan’s language as “Feitan’s language”. Mainly this is because I don’t know Chinese and don’t want to make a silly mistake, and when Feitan is shown speaking his language in canon it’s really only gibberish even though it’s heavily Chinese-coded. Also, I’m calling the hunter language “Standard”. So here’s to writing as vaguely as possible.

**Part one: Childhood.**

###### 

Phinks’ lips curl in a grimace and he squints at the pigeon currently being dissected on the sidewalk. “Why’re you doin’ that?”

“Like.”

“...Like?” 

Feitan lets out a small huff and searches for another word, continuing to prod at the desecrated bird. “Good.”

“Good?” Phinks parrots.

“Fun.” Feitan says curtly, no longer having much fun.

“Oh.” Phinks finally understands, to an extent. He shifts his weight and looks quizzically at Feitan. “You think this is fun?”

Feitan finally raises their eyes to shoot a glare at the blonde boy looming over them, in lieu of a verbal retort. But rather than being put off by Feitan’s hateful expression and walking away, as Feitan would have liked, Phinks walks over and sits down on the curb next to them.

“That’s pretty weird,” Phinks says matter-of-factly. “Usually people try to avoid dead stuff. I think you can get sick from touching blood.”

Under normal circumstances, when annoyed, Feitan would merely ignore the offender; but something about this boy is particularly irritating, and that presence of sharp irritation sparks in Feitan a motivation to talk more.

“Be stupid with blood, get sick. Be smart, blood fine.” Feitan doesn’t mention how hypocritical it is for Phinks to be pointing this out; they had spectated some of Phinks’ frequently-occuring fights before and seen him walk away covered in blood countless times.

Phinks hums a short “hm”, then turns and stares thoughtfully at Feitan. Thin eyebrows now knit tightly together, Feitan stares back. 

“You’re not real good at talking. D’you speak any other languages?”

“Duh. ” 

“Why don’t you speak one you’re better at then?”

“You…” Feitan paused for a beat, trying to think of a way to form the next phrase. “No be understand me.”

A wide grin broke out across Phinks’ face, showcasing his many missing teeth. “Try me. I know lotsa languages. Standard isn’t even my first.”

One hour later, and Feitan had to admit that they were impressed. Phinks actually had known their language, enough to hold a basic conversation, albeit with messy grammar. Evidently Phinks was born and raised in Meteor City, and this was the type of place where being knowing people and being able to talk to them kept you alive. Despite that, if actions meant more than words, Phinks’ best method of communication still lay in his fists. 

Phinks is ridiculously strong for his size and age, and Feitan now knows that he certainly wasn’t stupid despite emanating raw idiocy. Plus, it felt good to have someone to talk to in their native language for the first time in thirteen months, three days, and seven hours. Feitan no longer feels like trying to drive Phinks away, and even agreed to follow Phinks to a cooler location when the noon heat became overbearing. 

Now, the two sit under a tent in one of the more vacated areas of Meteor City. The tent is the result of Phinks stringing blankets over a frame of scrap wood and metal, which he had crafted himself. It’s even collapsible, and Phinks could easily take the blankets down to use for himself whenever he wants. Feitan knows all of this, because Phinks told it to them quite proudly.

“You should get better at Standard,” Phinks says, tapping at one of the screws in the metal beam behind him, making sure it was still tight. “Since it’s used basically everywhere, it’s really useful.”

“No need. You are understand me now.”

“Sure, but earlier I didn’t get what you were tryin’ to say at first. And I bet there are more things that you want to say that you can’t right now.”

Feitan shrugs. He isn’t wrong, but language doesn’t come to them quite as naturally as it appears to come to Phinks, so it’s easier said than done. Feitan prefers math, drawing, and blood.

“Way you use fists, I use blades. Both more good than language.”

Phinks starts laughing at that. “Yeah, true.” Phinks looks at his fist absently, scratches at a scab forming on his index knuckle. “Here you gotta be careful who you hurt though.”

“Five months past you kill boy.” Feitan looks at Phinks with testing eyes.

“He stole my lunch!” Phinks yells and throws his arms in the air exasperatedly. When Feitan only stares, he folds his arms in resignation with a hint of a pout in his lips. “It was an accident though. I got carried away, ‘n’ I guess I thought his skull would be tougher than it really was.”

“He farmer son.”

“Yeah. And now no one in that family gives me food, even if I have money. ‘S’bullshit.”

“What?”

“I said they won’t sell me food.”

“No. Last thing.”

“... It’s bullshit?”

“What ‘bullshit’ mean?” Feitan speaks with no hint of humor in their monotoned voice.

“Pfft- haha!” Phinks’ laughter rings out, and Feitan finds themselves confused at Phinks’ smile for the second time that day. 

“What is funny?” Feitan looks sharply and coldly at the blonde, and in their pocket their fingers grip a knife. “You tell me learn more Standard, then you laugh when I ask questions.”

“No ‘s’not that, it’s, uh…” Phinks catches his breath, then brushes some of his hair out of his eyes. “Well, ‘bullshit’, it just means like… something that sucks.”

“Sucks?” Satisfied that Phinks isn’t intentionally mocking them, Feitan lets go of their blade and returns to staring skeptically.

“Well, not like actually sucks, it’s…” Phinks scratches his cheek. “It’s something you don’t like. But ‘bullshit’ is a pretty rude word for it. You prob’bly wouldn’t say it to someone more powerful than you. You really haven’t heard it before?”

“No.” Feitan maintains a look of perfect disinterest, but they take mental note of Phinks’ explanations. “No talk to people often.”

“Apparently.” Phinks rolls his eyes. The two are silent for a few moments, until Phinks gets an idea, and turns to Feitan.

“Hey, let’s have a contest. I try to learn your language better and you try to learn Standard better, and whoever improves faster wins.”

“What is contest prize?” 

“Uhh…” Phinks turns away, fixing his gaze on the floor as he thinks. “How about… we have a lot of little contests, and each time, the loser teaches the winner a new curse.” Phinks grins, proud of his idea.

“Curse?” Feitan prefers classic physical punishment over magic, but violence is violence, they suppose. Having some magic up their sleeve could prove useful.

“Curse means a rude word. I already taught you ‘bullshit’, that’s a curse.”

“Oh.” Disappointment tints Feitan’s speech, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Phinks, who dives for a quick recovery.

“You gotta know curses if you really plan on fighting people. You gotta know when people are insulting you, and what the insults mean. Talking rudely is a good way to intimidate, too. If you can’t talk sharp people might underestimate you.”

“Underestimate me is their mistake.”

“Yeah, but still.”

Feitan considers it. Being aware when someone is disrespecting them, and being able to adjust the level of respect they allot to other people when they speak would be an invaluable skill. It isn’t a skill that would depreciate in value or vary greatly in different situations, so long as people were speaking Standard; and as Phinks pointed out earlier, Standard is spoken most places. 

The same doesn’t hold true for Feitan’s native language though; it’s rare for it to be used at all in this country, so there would be little point in Phinks studying nuances and having an intricate vocabulary. But Phinks is staring at them intently with eyes full of anticipation, so even if Feitan doesn’t fully understand the purpose, they respond: “Fine.”

**Part two: Ten years later.**

###### 

Tap tap tap tap.

Feitan inhales deeply and rubs the bridge of their nose. One black-painted fingernail of their other hand traces the words on the page, but stalls.

Tap tap tap tap.

In a lightning-fast, butter-smooth motion, Feitan fishes a knife from their pocket and flings it at Phinks’ head. Phinks, who is lying on his back on top of a pile of crates, has to roll off his perch and onto the concrete floor to dodge it. He falls with a heavy thud.

“ _FUCK _, Fei, that fucking hurt!” He howls, holding his elbow.__

__“I did not hit you, you hurt yourself with a shitty landing. You hurt my head with your tapping noises.”_ _

__“Fuckin’ whatever. Figure out some other way to tell me that without an assassination attempt.” Phinks spits, then turns to crawl back to his spot._ _

__“Wait. Come here.”_ _

__Phinks growls, but approaches them anyway, standing behind them, leaning over a bit to glance at the book spread on their lap. “What?”_ _

__Feitan traces their finger through the text again, then pauses on a particularly long word halfway down the page. “This word. What is it?”_ _

__A heavy silence falls over the room. Feitan thinks that Phinks must be trying to remember the meaning of the word, or struggling with the spelling as Feitan is. But after a full thirty seconds, Feitan grows impatient and looks over their shoulder at Phinks. Phinks meets their eyes with a look that can only be described as utterly dumbfounded._ _

__“Fei… I can’t read.”_ _

__The stages of grief start with denial and anger. Feitan asks, “What?” as their eyebrows crease together._ _

__Phinks just weakly shrugs. “I never learned. I thought you already knew this.”_ _

__The next stage is bargaining; “But you just now were reading this magazine.” Feitan points to a magazine splayed on the ground that had fallen out of Phinks’ hand when Feitan launched a knife at his head. “You read these sports magazines always.”_ _

__“I just look at the pictures, dude. Looking at pictures of buff guys is more fun than staring at the ceiling. Sometimes I can read captions and a few sentences here and there, but I can’t read the way you can.”_ _

__Feitan just stares blankly at Phinks, waiting for him to yell “Psych!” But Phinks looks just as confused, if not more than Feitan._ _

__“I don’t get how you never noticed this. Why d’you think I always tell you to read things for me?”_ _

__“I… thought you had been testing me. To see if I was improving reading Standard.”_ _

__Phinks pressed his lips together, and ran his fingers through his hair._ _

__“You mean that you do not know even if the things I read were correct?” Feitan is suspended in a limbo of disbelief._ _

__“I just trust you, dude. I remember you could read even when we first met, only not Standard. Even if you made mistakes reading the stuff I asked you, it’d be better than me trying.”_ _

__Feitan just shakes their head. “You make me learn Standard but you can not even read it. Bad irony.”_ _

__“What about the fact that I never text? Whenever I get a text I just call the sender. You thought I just liked hearing your nasty li’l voice?” Phinks has a shit-eating grin on his face now._ _

__“Many people call instead of text! Only thing that makes you unique is you are too dumb to text.”_ _

__“Hey, maybe I can’t read, but without me you wouldn’t even have a big enough vocabulary to be able to understand all these fancy books. Imagine all the medieval torture method manuals you would’ve had to live without.”_ _

__“You were right that I need to not throw knives over your tapping noises. I should have saved my knife to stab you now.”_ _

**Part three: Five years after that.**

###### 

__Phinks grumbles and adjusts his feet by the fire, struggling to find the balance between not-hot-enough and my-skin-is-melting. He brushes back the loose hair on his forehead--they had been on the road for three days now, and Phinks had forgotten to bring his hair gel with him._ _

__“Hey, Fei, toss me my cigs, will ya.” Phinks raises an open hand, and within two seconds the pack lands perfectly in his palm. When he opens the pack, he notices one in particular is missing._ _

__“You took some of my cigs?”_ _

__“Yes. Two.”_ _

__“Well you took my lucky one. I don’t care if you take some of mine but leave the lucky one, man.”_ _

__“You are being stupid. There is nothing special about one cigarette.”_ _

__“Yeah there is! I’m lettin’ you steal from me, the least you can do is respect my traditions.”_ _

__Feitan scoffs. “Is it really stealing if you also stole the cigarettes?”_ _

__“Aw, shuttup,” Phinks mutters as he gets on his knees and shuffles towards the fire. He puts a cigarette between his lips, then puts one hand on the ground and leans his face in towards the fire._ _

__“Is that a very good idea?” Feitan deadpans, watching Phinks with muted amusement._ _

__“If it works it’s good.” Phinks moves forward slowly, the heat already intense on his cheeks._ _

__“I would say ‘be careful or you will burn your eyebrows off’, but you do not need to worry about that, do you?” Feitan sniggers._ _

__“Eyebrows or not I’m still hotter than you, insect-looking asshole.”_ _

__“You are about to be even hotter.” Feitan points a finger and redirects Phinks’ attention to the cigarette, the tip of which is now on fire._ _

__Phinks jerks back and lands on his ass, all the while trying to keep the cigarette in his mouth, to inhale lightly, and to gently tap out the growing flame. After a little sputtering, Phinks leans back coolly with a satisfied smirk, the cigarette hanging loosely between his teeth._ _

__“So it works.”_ _

__“Incredible.”_ _

__While Phinks glows in pride over his foolery, Feitan quietly watches the stars above them. It’s rare nowadays for them to be alone like this in such a peaceful environment, and all it does is invite the mind to reminisce. Feitan finds themselves recalling old memories with Phinks. They glance over to their partner, who’s now also gazing at the sky, his hands propped behind his neck. For a while, Feitan contents themselves with just looking at Phinks; the way his chest rises with each breath, how he wiggles the cigarette between his teeth, and how his lips purse as he exhales smoke. Phinks is aware of Feitan watching him, and makes no move to deride them._ _

__When Phinks has finished the cigarette he flicks the butt into the fire, then rolls over lazily on his side._ _

__“Whatcha thinkin’ about, Fei?” The way Phinks’ voice is smooth and relaxed makes Feitan wonder the same for him._ _

__Feitan moves themselves a bit closer to the fire, then returns their gaze to Phinks._ _

__“You said once, Standard is not your first language. I have heard you speak many languages but I do not know which is your first.”_ _

__Phinks seems a bit surprised at the choice of topic, meeting Feitan’s eyes with a pensive hum._ _

__“Well, I don’t actually know the name of it. My mom spoke it and she’s the only one I’ve ever heard speak it. Truth is I dunno how much I really remember of it. I haven’t used it since I was a kid.”_ _

__Feitan first met Phinks when he was around eight years old, and they have no recollection of seeing or hearing much about Phinks’ family. Feitan can assume well enough what became of his mother._ _

__“You do not remember enough to teach me?”_ _

__Phinks is taken off guard by the suggestion, and for seconds his only response is silence. Then, Phinks chuckles, and sits up slowly._ _

__“No harm in tryin’ I guess. I remember what mom would scream when she stubbed her toe.”_ _

__

__**Now.** __

###### 

__

__Maybe asking to Phinks be the getaway driver at 3am right after a rainstorm wasn’t a good idea._ _

__“Stupid! You ever drive before?!”_ _

__“Shut up already, Fei!! You wanna drive so bad then fucking drive!”_ _

__“Move over!”_ _

__“Wai-- _STOP_!”_ _

__Feitan is one pothole or hydroplane away from jumping out of the car and walking, but now that Phinks has dared to invite them to drive, they waste no time in climbing over the console and attempting to push him out of the way._ _

__Feitan’s left arm hooks under Phinks’ right and their knee just barely avoids his crotch. Phinks’ right hand slips off the wheel and grabs at Feitan’s bandana instead, and Feitan would have been yanked backwards if they didn’t already have a vice grip on the wheel. Feitan’s upper body blocks Phinks’ vision and he struggles to steady his left hand. Between them both it’s hard to pinpoint the culprit of the final jerking motion that yanks the wheel out of control, but in the next moment they’re both hit with a wave of regret in slow-motion as they feel the car’s tires lose traction beneath them._ _

__In unison the duo shouts curses just before the vehicle slammed into the corner of a building. Glass of the shattered windshield and from the demolished storefront window fly at them, and would have been embedded in their faces had Feitan not instinctively covered Phinks, and had Phinks’ hand not flown to guard Feitan’s face._ _

__After they both catch their breath, Phinks can only glare at the shortie currently slumped in his lap._ _

__“Who’s stupid now?”_ _

__Feitan hisses and pulls a chunk of glass from their forearm, and shoots a look at Phinks from the corner of their eye._ _

__“Fine. My fault now. You shit driver still.” Feitan’s voice is lined with a growl and their grammar is cut choppy, the way it always is when their patience runs dangerously low._ _

__Phinks accepts Feitan’s acknowledgement of responsibility, knowing it’s the closest to a heartfelt apology he’ll ever get._ _

__“For now let’s just get out of here. I don’t feel like running from a bunch of pigs today.”_ _

__Phinks reaches around Feitan and pushes the door open, kicking them off his lap and onto the ground the second it’s open wide enough. Feitan doesn’t stumble despite Phinks’ roughness, landing naturally on their feet just like a cat. When they stand up straight, though, a pain spreads through their knee--it must have been shocked in an unnatural position during the impact._ _

__Feitan appraises the damage. They drove straight into the corner of a building, what looks like a department store. Making half of your wall out of glass is good for displaying things, not so good for protecting them. A security alarm is already blaring, and Feitan can feel a headache coming on from its shrill whine._ _

__As for the car, the entire front is mangled and smoking. On a whim Feitan considers setting it on fire to see if it would explode, but they decide they share Phinks’ preference to hurry up and leave before the cops show up._ _

__Phinks shows up at their side a few moments later carrying the prize for the night; a one-of-a-kind antique sabre, stolen straight from the manor of a world-renowned collector. He twirls it in his hand then tosses it to Feitan._ _

__“I still don’t get why you wanted that. It’s so old it’s probably barely useable.”_ _

__“That woman is a careful collector, that is why I steal from her.” Feitan catches the sword with one hand and inspects what they can see at first glance. What they can see of the outside seems to be in perfect condition, although it’s not impossible that the blade itself would be weak. “Beside, if it is not good then I throw it away. Simple.”_ _

__Phinks shrugs. “True.” He tugs the hood of his sweatshirt over his head and starts walking away. Feitan follows in step behind him, adjusting their bandana over their face, and muttering a “tsk” when they notice Phinks had torn part of the back side._ _

__They walk in silence through the dark, empty streets. They’d already gone far enough out of the way that they could no longer hear the alarm from the store. They’re halfway back to the abandoned house that they’ve claimed for the past week when Phinks suddenly stops in his tracks._ _

__“What?” Feitan says quietly, frozen beside Phinks. Did someone follow them? Did they forget something important?_ _

__“I just realized…” Phinks turns slowly to Feitan, looking at them with a strange expression. “When we crashed the car. We both yelled. But… I yelled in your language and you yelled in mine.”_ _

__“Wh--” Feitan is about to retort, about to say that they only ever curse in their own language unless it’s conversationally. But now that they think about it…_ _

__“I’m not wrong.”_ _

__Feitan huffs and resumes walking._ _

__“Does that make us like soulmates? Now we’re in synch like that.” Phinks grins down at them, and Feitan stares back with incredulous disgust._ _

__“Stupid. No way.”_ _

__“Haha, aw, come on.” Phinks laughs so hard he actually snorts, and Feitan rolls their eyes._ _

__“Soulmates are fate. I put up with you for years of my own effort. Do not disrespect my effort and call it like meaningless fate.”_ _

__“ _You_ put up with _me_? You lost the right to say shit like that after you aimed a blade at my head for the fiftieth time.” Phinks’ tone is hard and accusatory, but they both know that Feitan wouldn’t ever put Phinks in real danger. They’ve both been sharpened so acutely by lifetimes of danger that a knife to the throat is hardly worse than a flick to the temple. And as much as they threaten to kill each other, neither would ever dare._ _

__“Maybe I should test this one right now?” Feitan sneers and raises the sabre in their hands._ _

__“Oh I double dare ya, Fei. Pull another impulsive stunt tonight, it’ll look great on you.”_ _

__Phinks laughs and Feitan scoffs, lowering the sword. Before long they’ve fallen back into a quiet rhythm._ _

__Phinks crosses his arms behind his head and glances up at the stars, barely visible through the smog of the city they’re currently in. In the distance Phinks can hear the faint wail of police sirens, but other than that the only audible noise is two pairs footsteps falling together in the same timing._ _

__“You are hungry?” Phinks breaks the silence with a question, in Feitan’s language._ _

__“You said it in the wrong order, try again.” Feitan responds accordingly, their words coming out more smoothly than they do in Standard._ _

__“Oh. Are you hungry?”_ _

__“A little bit, but it’s not like there are any restaurants open this late.”_ _

__Phinks grunts and purses his lips._ _

__“But,” Feitan looks as though they just remembered something. “We could look for a 24 hour corner store and rob all the candy.”_ _

__Phinks’ mouth spreads in a wide grin, slipping back into Standard. “Now you’re speakin’ my language.”_ _

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually the first HxH fic I wrote, but I've been so iffy on the whole concept of this fic and my characterization that I had a hard time deciding whether to post it or not. But in the end, I have nothing to lose right?


End file.
